Short Tins Poems

copper tins on shelf
gleaming panner’s gold
— priceless faux lighting

4/2/2018...

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An email just received is a sham,
stating swine flu comes from tins of ham,
but don’t get a fright,
for this is not right,
when the email claims ham, well it’s spam....

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Did you ever been a money box,
Were you forced to place money in?
I wanted to buy lollies, you see,
Or even a Mad magazine,
All enforced savings, 
In the old money tins....

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There once was a shopkeeper called Una,
Whose bottom was getting rather lunar.
‘If fishing’s good for health,
‘I’ll reel tins from the shelf,’
She said as she caught a can of tuna....

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finally nobody remembers the legend
let alone become
you dragging from your back empty tins
you don't be fooled to noise
what they say is not clear
everyone knows his own adventure...

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Rub-a-dub-dub,
Margarine in a tub,
Without any butter the table is bare
The crumpets, the muffins, 
Bread from the loaf tins
They all need to be buttered thick
For the most satisfyingly simple fare...

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I have a collection
Crayola dated tins
You punched everyone of them
That's how you win

I finally have courage
To let them go
Eleven years later
A memory I buried below

I love candles
I will make something new
Melting my crayons
Giving them back to you...

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I collect tins and bags
of coffee, Hector brings
me, for future
barter.

Some unknown calamity,
I will have all the
coffee.

Tins and bags of
gold, a hoard to
protect.

Safe passage, ammo, maybe a
scarf for a loved
one, my mind creates endless
outcomes.

I' m hoping coffee is in
short
supply.



11/16/13...

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Revelations,

intimating sanctions,

sailing you to make-shifts,

assailing with blank lips-

I rock Hetty,
while she make's a day-list,

I'm rock steady,
but she's having her hanky tins.

We both have a family-
they all have flailing limbs,

why can't we get along on a train we ask?

But soon lose to space ships...

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Who can control the gold guppies the fishwisher did ask.
Merwoman Mamie said she might be up to the task.
She had raised some children – mermaids and mermens.
Pretty soon she had the gold guppies doing tricks in their tins.
She does it so easily, observed a coral reef god named Nom.
Maybe because she already has experience as a fantastic mom....

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Bygone days

Climbing trees 
Paper boats
Scabby knees
Duffle coats
Pick n mix
Runny nose
Thrupenny bits
Scruffy clothes 
Flying kites
Desperate Dan 
Conquer fights
Tins of spam
Spots n pimples
Teachers cane
Hunting thimbles
Bronco lane
Skimming stones
Hopscotch
Nit combs
Chicken pox
Kicking cans
Running wild
Building dams
Fifties child...

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We are the first dead in this house
Books in dysfunctional piles; debris,
Tins of old paint in the garage,
Airtight as the finish on bedroom doors.
A density of standing air,solemn
With the austerity of dried cornflowers.
Sour margarine on thin grey bread,
Old gruel of past weekdays, gone;
Children`s laughter in a bottle,
Too late, too cold, now not part of it....

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I don’t have a basement
there’s no hills here to run to
no caves for miles around

haven’t stockpiled tins of beans
or tomatoes
or peach slices

panic buying hasn’t been bought
no guns no knives 
except cutlery

and I’m not a film star
getting out of impossibilities
saving the world with nice teeth

so I guess I’ll just stay in bed
or pull up a chair
watching it all eating crisps


...

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Earth quakes
Rocks slip

Tremors
jolting

Tins clash
Men scream

Ground cracks
Mud caves

Sea growls
Boats sway

Waves roar
Tides crash

Birds roost
Beasts cry

Fear creeps
Knees shake

Rubble
surrounds 

Fate sneers
Death waits

God helps
Quake stills

All wreck
No death

Silence
pervades


May.29.2022

~Placed eighth~

A Brian Strand Premiere Poetry Contest...

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In her cupboards
are dried herbs,
spices and condiments.
She keeps the kitchen clean,
the pantry clean
but no food except for cat food,
cans and cans of cat food,
wet cat meats in stacked tins.
Only the best, good quality cuisine
fit for her and her cats.
The cats will not consume
the food if spiced or seasoned.
Over the years
her tastes have changed
now she takes no spices,
but her whiskers tingle
at the thought of catnip....

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Gold leaves are stirring 
Beneath my soles, scented leaves 
Like warm gingerbread wakes 
Prepping for the day 
Families give thanks 

See frost white cement 
Reminding me of cookies 
Oh the batches and tins 
This is how we know 
Christmas soon begins 

Red and green fireworks 
Summon a great new year, bang!
Kiss me like your champagne 
Look to see me soon 
Reminisce and change!

11.12.19
Sponsor of "Scented Leaves" - Kim Rodrigues...

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Milk and cookies to dunk into the night,
smiles are full of chocolate endorphins;
Filling to the brim decorative tins,
comfort food says everything is alright;
Vowing to eat just one but lose the fight,
sharing with those unexpected drop-ins;
Milk and cookies; 
Every one is devoured now you just might 
taste just like a bunch of sugary grins;
Amidst all the unwavering chagrins
your clothes may be hugging a bit too tight;
Milk and cookies....

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Spare me the goof,
O dear Captain,
Hear the rattling mess tins,
My dear old kit bag,
Worn out in action,
I lost my hold-all,
The spare drawers’ cotton,
A half-full water bottle,
Almost emptying my Haversack lunch,
The sun is scorching,
The camouflage is withering,
The cover is blowing out,
Silhouetted we crawl, 
The impetus is gathering, hell no,
The attack is uphill, so soon,
O dear Captain,
Silver-tongued Captain,
Think so fast, so fast like never before....

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In her cupboards 
are dried herbs,
dried spices and condiments.
She keeps the kitchen clean,
the pantry clean
but no food except for cat food,
cans and cans of cat food,
wet cat meats in stacked tins.
Only the best, good quality cuisine
fit for her and her cats.
The cats will not consume
the food if spiced or seasoned.
Over the years 
her tastes have changed
now she takes no spices
or herbs
but her whiskers tingle
at the thought of catnip....

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Contract hey

Santas on the thunderbox,
Contract given to George Knox,
He bid 20cents a tin ,
To bring the crappy nightsoil in.

Crumbob poo had made his bid,
He only had 14 kids,
25 cents a tin was it,
undercut by another half wit,
Great farting in your underjocks,
when Tarring the tins for the thunderbox

Moral of this story crude,
Contracts won by the lower dude,
How to force the wages down,
Come in sucker it’s your frown
The system has you screwed…

Don Johnson...

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A painter sits at work
he paints a bird
but it flies away
A crocodile he draws
it rises up to swallow him
A pretty girl he carves out
indecently she assaults him
A lake he paints on a wall
but it plots to drown him
A soldier he sketches on canvas
it takes a sword to cut him
He bangs tins pours paint
and breaks the brushes in anger!
All he created with paint and brush
emerge from nowhere,
arrest and detain him for life
What a mystery painter
in a mystery world!...

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